


If Only In My Dreams

by gray_autumn_sky



Series: When Brightness Dims [3]
Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M, advent 2020, when brightness dims verse
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-04
Updated: 2020-12-04
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:09:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,746
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27872069
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gray_autumn_sky/pseuds/gray_autumn_sky
Summary: Christmas 1930. Robin Locksley has always loved the Christmas--and he hopes that his new wife will share his excitement over the holiday season.Set in the When Brightness Dims Verse.
Relationships: Evil Queen | Regina Mills/Robin Hood
Series: When Brightness Dims [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1587481
Comments: 24
Kudos: 22





	If Only In My Dreams

Winter has always been his favorite season.

As a boy, he believed the winter months brought magic to the world. It was the only plausible explanation he could think of for why the cold seemed to turn the air into shimmery crystals and make people's cheeks look warm and rosy. Everywhere he went smelled of cinnamon and pine, and even after the Christmas holiday had passed, the magic remained.

As he grew older, that sense of magic dulled, but it was never truly gone; and when Roland came along, the magic flourished again.

He didn't remember the annual Christmas tree being a big deal when he was young—there was always a tree that came in on Christmas Eve that was quickly covered in strings of popcorn and paper ornaments, but it was gone by the New Year. It wasn't an activity to amuse him more than it was a fixture in the house or a marker of the season. Then, trees were only starting to become popular, and the only reason he had one was because his mother had had a German grandmother who brought the tradition with her when she immigrated to England.

Still, even then and even for that short time, he had fond memories of his laying underneath it, candles glowing all around him as he looked up through the branches, watching the way the light changed and the shadows cast by the tree's branches. The scent was what he remembered most—strong and crisp, bringing to him a comfort he wouldn't realize until adulthood.

His first Christmas with Marian, they'd had a small tree—they'd decorated it with tinsel and painted pine cones. She'd been reluctant for more—her family had never been able to afford a real Christmas so the tree held no special meaning, and besides that, the tiny apartment they shared was simply too small.

Though Roland was the spitting image of his mother in nearly every way, he shared his father's fascination with Christmas from the very start. And though they never had the space in the little apartment they'd shared with John, bringing home and decorating the annual tree had become something of a tradition for them—a staple in their holiday season.

Now, he had a proper room for a proper tree—and he relished in the chance to pick one out, not having to worry about it being too wide or too tall, not having to worry about it taking up the precious little space of his living quarters. He only hoped that his new wife and step-son would share in his excitement.

This wasn't something he and Regina had discussed.

As he considered it, that seemed odd. Regina was a planner and as a result nearly every detail of their holiday was pre-planned and prepped. They knew what they were having for Christmas dinner and who would be invited to celebrate with them, they knew what church service they'd be attending—at his instance, not hers—and what they would do afterwards. Though they had not yet settled upon gifts for the boys—and certainly hadn't deemed which were from them and which were from Santa Claus—there was a plan in place for that, too. The paper to differentiate the two had already been selected as soon as it was available in stores. So, while the boys' presents still needed to be bought and wrapped, Regina had been dropping hints about what she wanted for months, he was more than aware his own gift was already bought and wrapped, tucked at the bottom of a drawer beneath her stockings.

So, it was strange that they hadn't discussed a tree.

But surely, he assumes, that was just an oversight.

It had to be.

Standing before the lot, he takes a breath, smiling as he stares at row after row after row of freshly cut pines. He breathes in their scent and holds it for a moment, his skin pricking with excitement.

"Locksley!"

He turns to see a familiar face—Robin beams as they exchange pleasantries and the old man leads him to the back of the lot, gesturing to a row of the biggest fir trees he's ever laid eyes upon. Truly, there'd never been any question that this was the three he'd purchase—but still, he'd wanted to be sure.

He takes his time, examining them all, and finally, he selects the biggest one available.

"My first customer," the old man chuckles as Robin hands him a bundle of dollar bills. "So, I'll throw in the rope for free!"

In no time, the tree is strapped to his truck and he's on his way home, brimming with excitement in anticipation of seeing the boys' faces when they come in from school.

Regina's home when he arrives—in the kitchen, humming softly as she mixes something in a bowl. She looks happy and content and that makes his chest flutter—moments like these more than make up for the anguish that filled the earliest years of their relationship.

"You're home early," she says, looking up as a smile stretches over her lips and makes her eyes twinkle. "I didn't expect you for a few more hours."

"I left last night," he says, "drove straight through."

"You must be exhausted." Regina sets down the bowl and makes her way around the island counter before leaning in and pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. "You smell like forest."

His smile turns sly. "I have a surprise for you."

Regina's brow cocks. "Is it the apple wine Eugenia made?"

Robin blinks, momentarily drawing a blank before reaching into his satchel to hand off the bottle Eugenia had saved for her. He'd been so excited about the tree, he'd all but forgotten the wine.

"I nearly forgot," he tells her in a sheepish voice, his cheeks warming under his stubble. "I guess this just means I have two—"

"I know it's early, but… we should open it."

A little chuckle bubbles out of him as he watches her fingers stroke the neck of the bottle, her eyes lighting up as she takes it in. "It's barely noon, love."

"We can have it for lunch."

" _For_ lunch?"

Regina laughs as her fingers touch the label, tracing over Eugenia's flawless hand-drawn calligraphy. "I've been _dying_ to try this, Robin. Just a taste and then—"

"I tell you what," he interjects, stepping in and reaching for her, tugging her to him by the waist. "We'll open the wine _after_ a little something else." Her brow arches and she offers a mischievous little grin, but before she can even dare to speculate, his excitement gets the best of him. "I bought a Christmas tree this morning."

Regina blinks. "You… bought a tree."

"First one of the year!"

She laughs as her eyes roll. " _Your_ first tree or the lot's first tree?"

"Both!"

Regina only sighs and shakes her head.

"Help me bring it in?" He takes a step back, releasing her as he gestures to the back door. "I'd like to get it set up before the boys come in from school."

"That's hours from now."

"I know, but it'll take us a while to wrangle it in and—"

Regina's jaw drops a little and she stares at him with wide eyes. "Wrangle it?"

"Well, it won't just slip in easily without—"

"You expect me to _wrangle_ a tree?"

Robin blinks. "Well, if not you, who else?"

"John."

"He's on a delivery, so—"

"He won't be delivering booze to swanky houses for five hours."

Robin frowns. She isn't wrong. "But… I want to get it set up now."

Again, her eyes roll. "For the boys."

"Exactly."

For a moment, they just stare at each other, their eyes locked, both determined to get their way—and then, something miraculous happens.

"Fine," Regina sighs. "But you don't get any of my wine."

He claps his hands together and does a little dip as he reaches for her, pulling her in and pressing a quick kiss to her lips as a thank you before practically running out the back door to start untying the tree.

Regina follows behind slowly, dragging her feet and grumbling strings of expletives beneath her breath—and aside from holding the door open, he isn't sure how much help she actually is, but nonetheless, within the hour, the tree is in the house.

"It's massive," Regina says, her voice flat. "Where did you find this thing? The Enchanted Forest?"

"Sherwood lot."

She blinks at him. "It looks like its hobby is deadlifting."

His brow furrows as he looks to her. "What?"

"It's… bulky. You know… like…" Her voice trails off as she considers it, her own brow furrowing as she looks to the tree. She looks back at him and releases a breath, almost as though exasperated. "Remember when we took the boys to the circus. There were those two men who…" Again her voice trails off when he frowns and shakes his head, not following whatever it is she's trying to tell him. "It's just… massive."

"I know," he says, irrational pride bubbling up within him. "That's why I picked it. It was the biggest one."

"It's… not going to fit when we stand it upright."

"Sure it will."

"No. That little…spikey bit will touch the ceiling. I don't want it to scratch the paint, and if we put the angel on the top, it will—"

"Already considered that," he tells her. "I measured the angel already and we'll have about a quarter inch to spare if we trim that part down a few inches."

Her eyes roll and her arms fold over her chest. "You're going to make me do that part, aren't you?"

He laughs. "If I got onto your shoulders, I'd crush you."

Regina just stares at him, then sighs as she turns away. "I don't care if it's still morning," she grumbles. "I'm going to go open my wine while you get the trimmers."

* * *

By the time the boys come in from school—banging the snow off their boots at the door before kicking them off and sliding across the shiny new linoleum kitchen floor—Robin has the tree all set up.

It'd been a bit of an argument, but Regina didn't dig in her heels—and though he suspected Eugenia's apple wine played a part in that, he also was inclined to believe that her protests weren't completely sincere.

In the year they'd been married, he'd learned to pick his battles and quickly learned that, at times, Regina simply wanted to argue for the sake of arguing. Generally, he enjoyed the banter, even if it did sometimes get heated and did sometimes push beyond the point of being banter—and though there were times when the petty arguing unnerved him, the moments when she gave in made it all worthwhile. She'd smile at him, almost shyly, as she exhaled a breath and let her shoulders relax before leaning up on the tips of her toes to whisper that she was sorry and to press an apologetic little kiss to his lips.

Of course, there were plenty of times that didn't happen—plenty of times he had to be the one to give in. And, of course, there were times that that was necessary, that he was the one in the wrong, the one who'd pushed the envelope too far—and there were plenty of times neither was willing to take that first step and they went to bed angry, rolling onto their own sides of the bed and intentionally hogging the covers. Yet, inevitably, they'd wake up with their limbs entangled, both ready to start the day anew and leave the previous days' troubles behind them.

Late that morning, they set the tree up in its stand. Regina filled the stand with water while he spruced up the tree's branches, and then together, they hauled up the crates of ornaments from previous Christmases—Christmases from their previous lives.

Robin opened up the first crate and the first ornament he pulled from it was a little red-painted plaster circle adorned with a green ribbon and a little fabric holly appliqué, in the center was a tiny little handprint belonging to baby Henry and beneath it, Regina's pretty penmanship spelled out _Henry's First Christmas_ in metallic gold paint.

It was then that Regina began to soften.

He watched as she took the ornament from him, pouting out her bottom lip as she traced her finger over Henry's little handprint. She didn't say anything, but he knew what she was thinking. He'd sat down behind her and wrapped an arm around her shoulder, smiling as her head rested against his, accepting his comfort as she let herself momentarily be lost in the bittersweet nostalgia.

Once everything had been dragged up from the basement, Regina turned her attention back to dinner. He took a shower and a short nap, and by the time he'd joined her again in the kitchen, the boys were coming in from school...

Regina laughs as he runs to meet them—his own socked-feet also sliding on the linoleum, and when he's within arm's length of them, he reaches for Roland, scooping him up and spinning him around as he sings that he has a surprise for them.

Roland's eyes widen and Henry giggles as he slips, nearly crashing into his step-father and brother—and from the kitchen, he hears Regina sigh and say something about an after-school snack that's waiting for them.

But the boys don't hear her—they're too caught up in their waiting surprise.

"Close your eyes," Robin instructs as his arm slips around Henry's shoulders to guide him. "Tight."

Regina leans against the doorjamb. Her eyes roll, but in spite of herself, she smiles as he leads the boys into the family room.

"It smells good in here," Henry says.

"Yeah!" Roland agrees. "It's warm, too."

"It smells clean," Henry says. "Like that stuff mom washes the floors with."

"Pine Sol?" Regina asks, an amused little laugh rising into her voice.

"Yeah! Like that," Henry says with a nod, his head turning vaguely in his mother's direction. "But better."

"Well, I didn't wash the floors today, but we've had the fire going all day," Regina says as she joins them, frowning as she peers up at the massive tree, faint disdain creeping into her expression.

Robin chuckles softly to himself as he watches her, remembering the way she'd sneered as he knelt down to let her get up onto his shoulders to trim the tree and the delight she took in tossing the little bits of pine branches into the fire before he could suggest tuning them into little wreaths for the windows.

"Did you make s'mores?" Both he and Regina laugh at Roland's question, and before they can even ask what made him think that, his face lights up as another question bubbles out of him. "Is that the surprise? S'mores for dinner?!"

"No," Robin says, a sly little grin edging across his lips as he looks to Regina and cocks his brow. "But now that you say that, that does seem like a—"

" _No_ ," Regina says, her voice firm as she cuts in. "I made beef stew, and _that's_ for dinner."

"Maybe for dessert then?" Henry asks, interjecting himself as a voice of reason. " _After_ we eat the stew."

Regina sighs, but once more, she grins—though she thinks of herself as a firm parent and surely the disciplinarian of the household, she can rarely resist giving in to either of her sons. Though, she does put up a good fight against herself. "Perhaps."

Robin watches as a closed-eyed Henry turns toward Roland. "That means yes."

Regina's eyes roll and her head falls back in resignation—but as soon as he reminds the boys that there's still a surprise waiting for them, from the corner of his eye, he sees her perk up.

"Alright," he says slowly, taking a moment to position each closed-eyed-boy directly in front of the tree. "On the count of three—"

He counts and Roland squirms—and then, before he even fully gets out the three, the boys' eyes fly open. Henry gasps as Roland springs forward, touching his fingers to the pine needles and giggling.

"Woah!"

"It's huge! Like the one at the department store!"

"Yeah!" Roland echos, despite never having set foot in a department store with a tree of this size on display.

"Can we decorate it now?" Henry asks, his eyes settling on Regina. "Please?"

Robin grins—she won't say no. Not to Henry.

"Pleeeeaaaase, Regina? Can we?" Roland asks, whirling around his face her, his hands clasped together. "Please?"

A little laugh escapes him as he relishes in the boys' eagerness.

"Fine, but, you have to eat—"

They don't wait for her to finish, instead diving toward the open boxes of ornaments and holiday decor laid out in a row in front of the couch.

"I don't know why I always have to be the bad guy."

"You're not the bad guy."

Her brow arches. "Did you see the way they both looked at me?"

"Well, you just tend to…"

"Be less fun."

"No." Her brow cocks again. "You just tend to be the one who makes them eat their vegetables and—"

"Withholds desserts?"

"I think the struggle is more in your head than—"

"Do we have candles?"

They stop, both looking to Roland who is holding up a box of satin red bows and tarnished gold branch holders.

"No," Regina says, her voice firm and flat. "We are _not_ putting candles on the tree."

Roland frowns and Henry sighs, his shoulders falling in disappointment.

"There are plenty of things to decorate it with."

"But the candles make it _glow_ , Mom," Henry says—he brightens at the word glow as if somehow that will change her mind.

But Regina doesn't falter. "Sure, and the whole house will glow when it catches fire."

Robin clears his throat, his brow cocking as he looks at her. He chooses not to mention the candles sitting on the passenger seat of his truck. "You were saying?"

"What?"

He chuckles softly and shakes his head as Regina blinks up at him, puzzled—and he takes pleasure in the opportunity to tease her. "You wondered why you're always the one they need permission from, why you're always the one they see as an authoritarian, and… well… I think you've got your answer."

"Just because I don't want the house to catch fire—"

"Killjoy."

"I am not."

"You are."

"I'm not. I just…" Her voice trails off and she pouts—and she looks absolutely adorable. "It's not safe."

"Maybe not."

"Robin, there's no maybe—"

Shaking his head, he reaches for her, his hand slipping around her hip, tugging her in. "Come here."

"No," she says as her arms wrap loosely around his neck. "We're in the middle of an argument."

"I'm not sure that's what this is," he murmurs, licking at his bottom lip. "In fact, I'm positive it's not."

"It is. You called me a killjoy and—"

"A term of endearment."

"Is it now?"

"Mm—" He nods as he leans in, brushing his lips over hers. "It is."

"I don't think—"

"Killjoy," he interjects, his voice syrupy sweet as a grin tugs at the corners of his mouth.

"You're impossible."

"I know," he returns. "Impossible to resist."

Her eyes roll, but she laughs, making no effort to pull away. "You think awfully highly of yourself."

"You like confidence. You told me once."

"Did I? I don't remember ever saying that."

"Well, I do."

She laughs, her head dipping forward as her fingers rub at the base of his neck. "What were we talking about?"

"You don't remember? Well, neither do I."

"Yes, you do." She smiles as she looks up at him, her eyes trailing to his lips. "I think we were making up—"

"We can't make up if we weren't fighting."

"So you _do_ remem—"

Her voice halts as he kisses her—and he smiles against her lips as she sighs, giving up whatever's left of her need to be contradictory.

"WOW! TINSEL!"

They both laugh out, breaking the kiss, and a bit reluctantly, he turns his head, looking back over his shoulder to see Roland lifting a package of silver tinsel from a box—a forgotten relic from some Christmas past.

"Mom, can we open it?"

Robin looks back to Regina, her brow arching as she hesitates. "Say yes."

"It'll get _everywhere_."

"Killjoy."

Her eyes roll. "It's going to be like that confetti you let them—"

"They had fun."

"And I spent a week vacuuming it up."

"It's Christmas."

"It's December."

"Same thing."

"No, it's—"

"Mom, can we put the tinsel on the tree?"

Regina sighs as she looks between them all, struggling against the urge to say no—but then, just before she can say anything, a cunning little grin stretches over his lips as he announces, "She said you can, Henry. Use it all!"

Regina scowls—but before she can protest, he takes a few quick steps forward, pushing her back into the kitchen, spinning her around so that her back is against the wall. She gasps in surprise—and then she grins as he leans in, this time kissing her bit less chastely.

* * *

The first big snow of the year was always nothing short of magical.

That morning, the smell of snow was in the air, and by afternoon it was coming down hard. Regina laughed at him as he stood in the window, a cup of hot coffee in hand and fidgeting as he watched the large flakes coat the yard, creating a satin-y white blanket that made the whole neighborhood look like it belonged in a Victorian Christmas card.

"I hate to burst your bubble," Regina said, coming up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist as her cheek pressed to the back of his shoulder. "But... the boys are at school and… I know they usually walk, but it's going to take _forever_ to dig out your truck."

His brow furrowed as he turned, his arms wrapping around her. "Oh, I'm not driving to get them. The roads won't be clear anyway and while I have zero qualms about shoveling the driveway, I will not be digging out the whole neighborhood."

She looked at him, a bit perplexed. "But… the snow is knee-deep. You can't expect them to walk—"

"No, Henry might be able to manage trudging through it, but Roland's legs are too short. He'd only slow Henry down. They'd never make it here by dark."

"I… I don't know what you're implying, exactly, but—"

"Go lace up your boots."

"Lace up _my_ boots?"

Robin only laughed before pressing a quick kiss to her forehead. "Be ready in ten minutes!"

"Robin, I—"

He didn't let her finish—but nonetheless, ten minutes later, Regina was joining him in the yard in her favorite coat and a fur hat, and just as he'd asked, the boots she never wore were laced all the way up to her knees.

"You look cozy."

"I'm not sure that's the right word, but I am warm."

Robin grinned—and before she even had the chance to complain, he trudged around his truck. He could see her peering around the front of it, her brow furrowed with curiosity and then when he brandished a pair of snowshoes her brows jutted up.

"I've got two pairs."

"They look like tennis rackets."

"They do."

"And… I'm supposed to wear these?"

"Not exactly the fashion accessory of the year, but—"

"Oh, no," she murmured, kicking out her right foot. "They go with these clunky things just fine."

"Well, you have options—"

"The tennis rackets, or…"

Grinning, he pulled a shiny red metal sled around to the front of his truck. "I was going to wait until Christmas—"

"Where did that come from?"

"A guy Marco plays cards with was selling it." Robin shrugs. "His kids are grown and he said he could make more use of a few bottles of good whiskey."

A little smile edged over Regina's lips. "I see."

"So you can walk… or ride."

"I'd look a bit silly if I let you pull me like a child on—"

"So, tennis rackets it is."

Her eyes roll, but she laughs—and then once her snowshoes were secured under her boots, they were on their way.

They arrived as school was letting out, the school bell still ringing as children poured out the front doors, yelling and laughing. He craned his neck to find Henry and Roland in the crowd, and no sooner than he did, Roland spotted him, too. He relished in the way Roland's face lit up as he saw the sled, and he laughed at the way Roland began to aggressively slap his gloved hand against Henry's arm to get his attention.

"Your chariot awaits!" Robin called out as both boys laughed with surprise.

"Where did this come from?" Henry asked.

"I know a guy," he said, not wanting to explain the dull story again. "Hop on!"

Roland and Henry exchanged quick glances before lunging forward, snow kicking up behind them. Henry sat down first, offering Roland his hand—and Robin felt his heart swell a bit as Henry wrapped his arms around Roland, holding him to his chest before taking hold of the rope that would secure them on the sled.

He and Regina hadn't been married all that long—barely a year—and though they'd been together far longer than that, their circumstances around their relationship hadn't allowed their sons to get to know each other beforehand.

There were times when the age gap was apparent, but Henry was a kindhearted boy and a good sport, and moments like this one reminded him of that—and moments like this one made him eternally grateful that his own son would learn from Regina's son's example.

"Ready?"

Both boys nodded—and as soon as they did, he took off running, jogging around the schoolyard and dragging the sled behind himself. He moved slower than he would have without a few feet of snow beneath his boots, but he picked up speed on the second go around, this time looping around the whole school yard.

Regina laughed out. "I should sign you up for the Iditarod!"

He did another loop around the school yard before returning to Regina, then nodded for her to get on with the boys. She'd hesitated momentarily, very aware of the eyes that were on them, but when both Henry and Roland began to beg, she sucked in a breath, then climbed on behind Henry, holding him tight as Robin led them out of the school hard and onto the path that would take them home.

He was red-faced and breathless as he pulled the sled up the long driveway toward the porch. The boys hopped off quickly and raced toward the back yard, scooping up snow and tossing it at the other as they ran. Robin offered Regina his hand and she snuggled into his side, whispering something about soup being on the stove before ducking inside—and as he watched his sons play in the snow, he found himself wondering if there could be a more perfect afternoon.

Now, as he sinks down onto the couch, he can still feel the cold sting of the icy air on his cheeks and the warm tingly sensation in his chest—and a dull ache in his shoulders he knows will only worsen by morning.

"Hey, you."

He smiles as Regina sinks down opposite him on the couch, pulling his feet into her lap. "Hi."

"The sled was a hit."

"It was," he says, beaming. "Tomorrow, I'm going to take them to the hill behind the church and let them take it for a whirl on their own."

"You won't be their personal sleigh horse tomorrow?"

"No."

Regina laughs. "Maybe… you should take a hot bath."

"I should, but I'm afraid I won't be able to get up."

"From the couch or the tub?"

This time, it's his turn to laugh. "I meant the couch, but the latter makes for a horrifying thought."

"Well, you're no Billy Taft."

His brow furrows. "Should I be jealous?"

"Of the president who got stuck in a bathtub? No."

His eyes press closed and a little chuckle escapes him. "Oh. _That_ Taft."

"Is there another?"

"I suppose not." Robin draws in a breath as Regina's fingers squeeze at his aching feet. "That feels nice."

"Does it?"

"Mm—"

"I know something that would feel better."

His brow cocks as he turns his head to look at her, and he watches as a coy little smile tugs up at the corners of her mouth.

"Come on," she says, gently patting his legs before standing up and offering him her hand. "Let's go."

But instead of tugging him toward the bedroom, she turns and tugs him toward the bathroom.

His brow furrows, perplexed.

"Oh, this isn't—"

"Strip."

He blinks. "I'm confused."

"Take off your clothes," she tells him as she sits down on the edge of the tub. "Unless you don't want to. It'd probably be more comfortable without them though."

Slowly, he takes off his shirt, watching as she turns on the water—and a wry chuckle escapes him. "When you said _something that would feel better_ I, uh… it didn't occur to me that you meant a soak in the tub."

Her eyes roll. "You have a one-track mind."

"Yes, I do. I'd argue that most men do."

He watches as Regina sticks her hand into the water, then adjusts the knobs, adding more hot water. She gets up from the tub's ledge, and moves to the cabinet, staring into it for a moment in search of something—and then, when her eyes finally settle upon it, there's a spark. And he smiles.

She pulls out a jar of Epsom salt and goes back to the tub, scooping a handful out of the jar and sprinkling it into the water before swishing it around.

"Get in."

She blinks, her eyes then trailing down his body. "You're choosing to leave your boxer shorts on."

"Oh—" He offers a sheepish grin, the shimmies out of them, quickly crossing the room to the tub and getting in. " _Ohhh…"_

His eyes are closed, but he knows she's smirking at him with that _I told you so_ look on her face.

And then he feels her behind him.

She's sitting on the tubs ledge, her feet in the water on either side of him. She leans forward a bit, and he draws in a breath as her hands touch his shoulders—and when she starts to rub them, it elicits a low moan from him.

From the warm water to her touch, it all feels amazing—and he can feel his achy muscles relaxing.

He feels himself dozing, drifting in and out of consciousness—and, each time he returns to the present, he feels more sated and considerably less tense.

Drawing in a breath, he opens his eyes, watching as her wet hands slide over his chest. He smiles and bites down on his lip—it's impossible to ignore that his body is responding to her touch.

And suddenly, he is very much awake.

A devilish little grin crosses his lips as he waits for her hand to slide down over his chest again—and then when it does, he reaches for it and gives it a tug.

Regina gasps, too stunned to even scream and she falls over the edge of the tub and into the still-warm water.

Before she can react, before she can say anything, he pushes himself forward, placing his hands on either side of her face and pulling her into a kiss. At first, she's tense—angry, even—but after a few mere seconds pass, he feels her relaxing in his arms.

"I am soaking wet," she says as he pulls back and releases her. There's not even a hint of annoyance in her voice. "Look at what you did."

"Well, luckily there is a very easy solution to that."

Her brow arches as his hands dip into the water, reaching for the hem of her dress. A coy little grin stretches over her lips as she lets him pull off her soaked dress, dropping it to the floor beside the tub, a soft giggle escaping her as it falls to the floor with a _plop_.

He sucks in a breath as she unclips her bra and drops it to the floor—and as she leans in to kiss him again, his hands dip back into the water, hooking in the elastic of her silk panties and pulling them off.

 _This_ was a bit more of what he had in mind.

* * *

It's a mid-December Saturday when Regina comes in, smiling from ear-to-ear. Robin shakes his head, chuckling softly at the two bags she carries branded with the now-familiar-to-him Lord and Taylor logo.

When they first met—or rather, when they first started seeing each other on a regular basis, doing...whatever it was that they'd been doing—it seemed as though Regina was always carrying a shopping bag. It was how she entertained herself, how she kept herself close to her son, and how she reconciled a life of luxury that was anything but that for her. And still, when he sees her now, carrying over-stuffed bags, he thinks of that time—a time that was both simpler and more complicated, a time when he was still getting to know her, and a time when he was slowly but surely falling in love with her.

"They need to stop growing!"

"What did you have to get them this time?"

"Pants for Roland," she sighs. "I looked at him yesterday and could see his whole ankle. He didn't seem bothered by it, but…" She sighs. "Pretty soon they'll look like a pair of summer shorts on him."

Robin's brow furrows. "That can't be."

"I thought one of us shrunk them in the wash, so I had him go and change into another pair, and…" Regina's voice trails off as she frowns, shaking her head. "It wasn't just that one pair."

"He must've had a growth spurt—"

"Overnight?"

"It happens."

"I know," she says, her eyes casting down to the bag she holds. "I just...hate it."

Robin nods. He hates it, too.

"And Henry needed socks," she tells him, looking back up. "I don't think he owns a pair that doesn't have a hole in them, and then… well… they can always use underwear."

"Can't we all."

Regina huffs. "I picked up some sweaters, too—for both of them."

"If their legs and feet are growing, so are their arms."

"Exactly."

He watches as she sinks down opposite him at the table, dropping the bags down at her feet. "So, do we… wrap these things up and…"

"I can't give them underwear for Christmas."

"Why not? I always get Roland underwear."

"Really?"

He nods. "The necessities and a couple of toys…"

"That… surprises me."

"Does it?"

Regina nods. "You're… a fanatic about every aspect of Christmas and you get your kid underwear? It doesn't make sense."

"Well… that's what _I_ get him," he says, a sly little grin stretching across his lips. "Santa Claus on the other hand…"

"Ah. _That_ makes more sense."

"I left the Sears and Roebuck catalogue out on the coffee table last night."

Her brow arches and a knowing little smile emerges. They talked about this—it'd create a sure-fire plan of getting the boys something they truly wanted but hadn't mentioned for Christmas, and while that last detail likely didn't matter much with the older and wiser Henry, it did matter with Roland. "Did you?"

"They both thumbed through it," he tells her. "I think Henry wants a chess set."

"He doesn't know how to play."

"He can learn."

"I… don't think he wants one. He's never shown any interest in it." She frowns. "Leo has a chess set and Henry's never—"

"Then why did he spend twenty minutes looking at an advertisement for one in the catalogue?"

Regina's eyes narrow. "How do you know that?"

While the catalogue with its thin and easily wrinkled pages had been a part of their plan, him spying as the boys flipped through those pages was not.

"I...might've been napping as they explored all that Sears and Roebuck have to offer this holiday season."

Her eyes roll. "Napping, huh?"

"I was _trying_ to."

"Sure you were."

"I was!" He insists, a little laugh bubbling out of him. "But _that_ doesn't matter. What _does_ matter is your boy wants a chess set for Christmas."

"That is more fun than a package of underwear."

"It is."

"And how about Roland? What does he want for Christmas?"

"I think a better question is what _doesn't_ he want." At that, Regina laughs. "But I have a few good ideas."

"You do, or Santa does?"

"Well, both of us, of course."

Regina laughs. "You know," she begins. "We should take the boys to Sears to see Santa. Henry's a bit too old, but he'll be a good sport about it, especially if it's something that Roland would be interested in doing."

Robin grins. He likes the idea—he loves it, in fact. "You know, you won't believe this, but he's never been."

Her eyes widen and a little chuckle bubbles out of him. "You're right. I don't believe you," she says, her jaw lax. "I… I truly can't believe that you of all people have never taken your son to see a department store Santa Claus at Christmas."

"I know, I know, it's shocking. But it's the truth."

"Why not?"

"Well, for starters, this is a very small town and for a long time, Roland went everywhere with me and so he knew everyone." He shrugs. "And I knew the old man who played him. I was worried he'd recognize him and then…"

"And then the magic would be over," Regina says, filling in the blank that Robin leaves as his voice trails off. "I suppose that does make sense then."

"I could've gone somewhere else. There are a million stores between here and Marco's place in Canada. But I don't like making stops when I've got a truck full of illegal booze."

Regina nods, gently reaching out and taking his hand from across the table and giving it a tight little squeeze.

"You know, I worry that he'll find out or…"

He stops, not wanting to complete that thought—this isn't something he allows himself to think of often, never wanting to acknowledge the fact that what he does for a living is illegal, that it's the exact opposite of everything he wants his son to think he is and the exact opposite of the example he wants to set for him.

"Roland loves you and you're a wonderful father," Regina says, rising up from the seat across from him and repositioning herself on his lap. She smiles warmly as her arm slips around him. "And nothing could ever change that."

"Thank you for that," he says, glad for the sentiment, but unsure if he believes it.

"How about we take them next weekend?"

"Take them where exactly? This town has had the same Santa since I was Roland's age."

"To Arendelle to see the Sears and Roebuck Santa." Regina's smile deepens, shining into her eyes. "It'll be fun! We can pick up that chess set and some things for Roland, and Henry can take Roland to see Santa."

"You realize that Arendelle is nearly two hours—"

"We'll make a day out of it! We'll stop for lunch at some hole-in-they-wall diner and I'm sure Arendelle has a chop house or somewhere we can find dinner."

Robin can't help but grin. "That sounds… like the sort of thing I would plan."

"What can I say? You're rubbing off on me."

"Am I?"

Her eyes roll and she offers a little sigh as she gets up and picks up one of the shopping bags. "Look at what else I bought."

"Please tell me it isn't my Christmas gift… or rather, tell me that you didn't get me a new package of underwear for Christmas."

"No, but now that you say that I probably should've picked you up some, too." Robin's eyes roll as Regina jiggles the bag in front of him. "But enough about underwear, look what I got!"

A little grin tugs up from one corner of his mouth as he takes the bag. "You're awfully excited about this, it seems."

"I am, I guess." Adorably, she bites down on her bottom lip, the anticipation nearly killing her as his brow arches up, his curiosity more than piqued.

He watches her as he reaches into the bed, grinning as she holds her breath—and then, he reaches into the bag, pulling out four felt Christmas stockings. "You bought… plain stockings."

"Yes—for the mantle. Two green ones for you and Roland, two red ones for me and Henry." She offers a sheepish grin. "You know, when we were setting up the tree and going through all of the ornaments… it occurred to me that none of them are ours."

"They're all ours," he says, not quite following.

"Well, yes. They belong to you and me, but… not to _us_." She shrugs. "This is our first Christmas as a family… and so I thought it'd be nice to… to you know, have something hanging up that signifies that, so that next year when we're doing this all over again, it's not my things in one box and yours in another…" Her voice trails off and her eyes press closed. "Maybe I'm making a bigger deal out of this than I should and I know that I'm usually kind of a Scrooge about these things, but—"

"No," he murmurs, a slow smile spreading over his lips. "I get it—and I agree."

"I just thought it'd be fun to decorate them. I bought some appliqués and—"

"I guess you're less of a Scrooge than I thought."

Regina grins, looking up at him a bit bashfully. "Well, don't go spreading that around. I have a reputation to maintain, you know."

Robin laughs—and he finds himself thinking of the night when they first met, the night when she told him off and put him in his place. She'd told him the only things he knew about her were the things she wanted him to know, alluding to the carefully crafted facade he now knew she had up around her.

And though this moment isn't at all the same, he's glad that she can still take him by surprise.

* * *

Robin stands on the sidewalk, beaming up at the house.

It's been a little under the year since he and Regina purchased it, and thought it wasn't at all the sort of home she was used to living in, to him, it was a castle.

And he was King.

That summer he and John had installed a white picket fence, framing the yard, and they'd aligned the front door and shutters in a glossy black—a striking contrast to the crisp, clean white asbestos siding on the house. Just before Halloween, they'd installed a black wrought iron light post adorned with a black placard with bright white numbers to show the house's address and an electric light that had cost a small fortune.

The plush green lawn was now covered by snow, and the rose bushes that he and Regina had painstakingly planted that spring glistened with ice. Adding to the natural wintery feel was a green evergreen wreath on the door and little candles tied with tiny red satin bows that sat proudly on the interior window sills, giving the house a warm festive glow.

The candles themselves were a bit of an argument—but Regina had given in when neighbor after neighbor complimented the house—and now, he knew another argument was brewing…

Robin prided himself on having the nicest lawn and tidiest garden. Three times a week he was outside with the push mower, and though they hated it, he'd managed to convince the boys to spend an hour of their Sunday morning tugging weeds up from the flower beds. In the summer they'd found a stone birdbath at the junkyard and spent a week building and painting birdhouses for the tree in the backyard. That fall, they'd carved Jack-O-Lanterns and lined the porch steps with them, and for Thanksgiving he'd adorned the porch with hay bales and corn stalks—and again, though Regina hated the mess, she enjoyed the neighbors' compliments.

So, for Christmas, he'd decided they'd go all out.

Last week it'd been the candles in the windows and the wreath on the door; today, would come the rest…

That morning he'd purchased a pair of small evergreens—truthfully, they weren't that small, they were only small in comparison to the tree they had inside—and he'd put them each in a big red planter that he'd filled with wood chips. He'd placed them on either side of the door and laid pine cones around the base of the planter—and no sooner than he was done, Regina had taken notice.

"Pretty, eh?"

Her brows arch. "Did we really need two more trees?"

He blinks as though confused by her question. "Yes."

Frowning, she stands beside him, staring at the porch. "Well, at least they're not too gaudy—"

"Oh, I haven't decorated them yet."

Turning, she looks at him. "You're decorating them?"

"Henry is in the garage painting some pine cones gold."

Her eyes narrow. "And where's Roland."

"Stringing cranberries."

"The birds are going to eat them."

"They won't."

"Robin. They're birds in the winter and you're putting out fresh fruit, of course—"

She doesn't have a chance to finish before he's jogging up the stone walkway to the porch. Her voice halts as he trots gingerly up the stairs, reaching behind the banister to reveal a wicker owl wearing a red satin bow around its neck—and Regina's eyes go wide.

"What… is that?"

"An owl! Marco made it for us!"

Though it seems impossible, her eyes go wider. "Why would he do a thing like that?"

"To keep the birds from getting on the porch and eating our cranberries," Robin tells her, a grin pulling onto his lips. "He made three for us, actually, and Eugenia made them Santa hats!"

"Of course she did," Regina sighs, shaking her head and rubbing at her brow. "But… why and… why are they so large?"

"They're just the size of pumpkins. They're not that—"

"They're large, Robin."

He shrugs and grins as he looks to the wicker owl. "But no one will have decorations like these!"

Regina frowns. "I can't argue there…"

"Help me hang 'em."

Again, her brows jut up. "Hang them?"

He nods, revealing the little rope attached to head. "See?"

"Oh…"

"We have to stuff the hats with newspaper, so they don't droop."

"Not that I care, but… how will the hats stay on their heads if the rope is also attached to their heads?"

Robin laughs—he can tell that she's trying to find a way around this, trying to find some sensible reason not to display the owls. But it won't work. "There's a hole in the top," he says easily. "Look!'

He reaches for one of the Santa hats and holds it out to her, but she stays rooted in place on the sidewalk and only sighs in response. Grinning, he trots down the steps and jogs down the pathway to her, pressing a kiss to her cheek as she stuffs her hands into her pockets.

"I'll let you know now, I'll have no part in this," she tells him. "It's going to look tacky."

"It'll be cute."

"Doubtful."

"The boys are excited."

"They're children and you're letting them do craft projects instead of their homework, of course they're excited."

"Killjoy," he whispers just before pressing another kiss to her cheek—and from the corner of his eye, he sees the tiniest little grin tugging up from the corner of her mouth.

"So, so we've got two trees and some owls… in addition to the wreath and candles."

"Yes."

"Great."

"Well, that's not all."

Again, her brows jut up and a small little laugh escapes him. "I'm not sure I want to know."

"I bought lights."

"Lights…" she repeats, her eyes narrowing. "You bought lights for… what? We don't need any bulbs for…"

Her voice trails off as his grin widens. "The house."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, there are these strings of lights that you can clip to—"

"No."

"I haven't even finished explaining."

"You're not putting lights on my house. Robin, that's ridiculous and—"

"Well, when I was getting some for the tree—"

"The tree has been done for weeks."

"Not without some kind of lighting, and you nixed the candles."

"They're flammable. It's a safety hazard."

"Right, so, stringed lights—"

Regina groans and he laughs.

"The boys and I will handle them on the tree, but—"

"But what?"

"I need you to help me get them on the house."

Her arms fold over her chest. "And if I refuse?"

"Then they'll look crooked and shitty."

"So what if they do?"

He grins. "You won't be able to stand that." She frowns. She knows that he's right. "Neither of the boys are tall enough and—"

"I am barely taller than Henry."

"You're a few inches taller, and just a few inches counts for a lot," he tells her, smirking as his eyes twinkle at the unsaid and unintentional joke. "Besides, John's up in Canada and won't be back until Friday."

"So you wait."

"So I _can_ put them up, if John is here to help?"

She blinks—and then her eyes press closed. "I hate you."

"No, you don't."

"I do."

"You're going to love the way these look when they're up and twinkling. I know you will. It'll be just like the candles in the windows… you'll object and fight it, and then in the end, you'll see that I'm right."

"I never said I liked those candles."

"You haven't taken them down though."

Regina's chin tips up. "It'd hurt your pride."

"Still, you haven't done it."

"I'm trying to be considerate of your pathetic little rivalry with Kristoff. That's all in your head, you know. They don't care."

Robin's jaw tenses at the mention of the neighbor who lives across the street—whose tulips that spring were perkier, whose grass was always just a bit greener and whose Jack-O-Lanterns apparently won a prize every year at the town's Halloween festival.

"Anna carved those," he says, cringing at the pettiness in his voice. "And those cute little bells on the mailbox were her doing, too."

She sighs, and he can see her conceding, likely thinking she's taken it a bit too far by calling his rivalry with the neighbors pathetic. "You're _sure_ these aren't flammable."

"Have your lamps ever caught fire?"

Regina's eyes roll and she doesn't reply—and then right on cue, Kristoff rounds the side of his house, a massive white metal snowman awkwardly in his arms and his two also massive St. Bernards, Sven and Olaf, trotting behind him. He offers a chipper wave before setting the snowman down as Anna emerges from the front door with a painting set.

"Cute trees!" she calls out, pointing to the two evergreens on either side of the door. "Very rustic! We're going with a more cutesy theme."

Robin nods. "You painting that snowman?"

"Of course!"

"We're not really into the minimalistic look," Kristoff calls out. "He's a little plain, so we're gonna jazz 'em up! We've got some metal snowflakes to hang, too."

"Cute, eh?"

"Mm, very," Regina replies, her voice considerably more clipped than it has been since she came outside to inquire about the additional decor. "Very cute, indeed."

Robin watches as Regina turns, nodding and waving, offering a warm smile before turning back to face him—and slowly, she inhales a breath and releases it, her breath puffing out in front of her like a little cloud of smoke. She looks contemplative and perplexed, and frankly, a little pissed off.

"Did it… sound like they were insulting our decorations?"

Robin feels his heart skip a beat. "Yes."

"I mean, neither rustic nor minimalistic are insults, but—"

"It's the _way_ they said it."

"Exactly." Regina's eyes press closed and her shoulders square—he knows this look well, she's pissed off. But it's more than just that. Her competitive streak has been ignited. "Go get the ladder," she tells him before turning up the walkway to open the first package of Christmas lights.

* * *

That day, they drove to Arrendelle to go to the Sears and Roebuck to see Santa Claus and do some Christmas shopping. For the most part, they'd kept it a secret, wanting to see the surprise on Roland's face the first time he saw Santa Clause up close—and as Regina suggested, they'd made a day out of it.

After a late Saturday morning breakfast of French toast and sausage, they'd piled into Robin's truck and set out for Arrendelle. On the way, they stopped for hot chocolate at a little stand, and Roland and Henry each had a peppermint stick as they perused a Christmas tree lot, eventually selecting a back of pine cones, holly and evergreen branches to string together into garlands to wrap around the porch, and place and a small tree for the tiny porch off the side of the house.

To his surprise, Regina didn't argue—and instead, surprised them all by asking if they had any more Christmas lights that they could wrap around the garland to make it stand out at night. At the suggestion, his brow had furrowed and the boys exchanged curious glances and she'd aloofly explained that she did like the lights, after all, and no one else on the block had them, so they really set the house apart.

By noon, they were tucked into a booth at a little diner just outside of Arendelle, eating turkey and cranberry sandwiches and munching on a shared plate of fried potato wedges. Somehow the boys ended up walking out with cookies both he and Regina swore they didn't buy, and by the time they reached the parking lot of the Arendelle Sears and Roebuck, both Henry and Roland were practically bouncing.

Regina knelt down in front of Roland and helped him out of his coat, while Henry removed his and handed it off to Robin who shoved it into a store locker as Regina, for the umpteenth time reminded the boys of the plan.

Henry sighed as he repeated it, practically verbatim, promising to not let go of Roland's hand and to meet them back at that very spot in an hour and a half. Robin chuckled as Henry's eyes rolled at his mother—Henry was so like her in some ways, and that was always terribly endearing to him—and he handed Henry two two-dollar bills for the boys to spend.

Regina's brow arched as Henry's eyes widened with surprise, and Robin offered a wry chuckle explaining that one of his favorite customers liked to tip him in two-dollar bills because he wanted to get rid of them just in case the stories old bankers told were true and the bills really were back luck.

"So you're passing the bad luck onto us?"

"Well, I could take them back," Robin has said—and as soon as he did, Henry's fingers tightened around the bills.

"Well, it's not proven that they bring bad luck," Henry reasoned, a sly but sheepish little grin crossing his lips. "And it's not like we'll be hanging onto these for very long."

Regina reminded him again not to let go of Roland's hand, and then, just before allowing the boys to set off, she reminded him to avoid the fourth floor where Santa's North Pole Workshop was set up.

"What's on the fourth floor?" Roland asked as the boys started to walk away.

"Nothing," Henry replied easily. "Just storage and stuff."

After that, the boys were out of earshot, and a moment later, the boys round a corner out of sight. Regina lingered for a moment just before Robin took hold of her hand, tugging her in the direction of the order pickup counter where Henry's chess set had been set aside.

The lady at the service counter was kind, offering to hang onto the large and already-purchased item while they shopped, and they were all too happy to take her up on that offer. Together, their fingers loosely entwined, they wove through the store, selecting gifts for their sons. For Henry, they picked up a fountain pen and a journal—while he was at boarding school in England, he'd picked up a knack and a liking for writing poems and stories, and that interest had continued after returning home. For Roland, they got a new erector set and a pogo stick he'd spent a considerable amount of time staring at in the catalogue and asking Henry about. Then there were some shared gifts—a dart board for the garage, new sets of marbles, a pair of yo-yos, and a book of silly parlor games they could play as a family. Regina eventually found herself in the boys clothing section, picking out a few sweaters and a pair of shoes for each of them—and while she was picking up items he deemed "boring," he wandered over to another section of the store and put down a deposit on a record player to be delivered at a later date. It was a luxury and one that Regina would never willingly go along with, but he knew the argument wouldn't last, and once it was set up in the living room, she'd never send it back.

Finally, they met again and he teased her as she inquired about where he'd been, pretending he'd picked up her Christmas gift despite having done so weeks before…

Bags in hand, they met up with the boys, who in the span of an hour and a half had each managed to blow through the money they'd be given—Henry on comics and Roland on tinker toys—and now were clamoring about being hungry again.

"We could… just drive around until we find a place," he'd suggested, earning a concerned look from Roland.

"But what if this town doesn't have any restaurants!?' he'd asked, the panic in his voice nearly palpable.

Regina ran her fingers through his messy mop of curls as she pulled him back against her legs. "This town has to have restaurants, don't worry about that."

"But what if we go to a bad one. What if—"

"Would it make you feel better if I asked the lady at the service desk?"

Roland nodded. "Where's the service desk?"

"The fourth floor," he'd said with a grin, his own anticipation building as his eye caught Regina's, and she too had smiled.

Of course, Regina hadn't left dinner to chance—they had a 6 o'clock reservation at a local steakhouse. Nonetheless, they all piled into the elevator and rode it to the top floor—and as everyone else poured out of it, Robin's eyes shift to his son.

He and Regina lingered a few feet behind the boys, watching as Roland wandered out of the elevator and looked around—his eyes trailing over the shimmering lights and red satin bows. He smiled at the wooden reindeer all lined up in a row, gasping as his eyes followed the line to a shiny red sleigh adorned with more gold bells than any of them could count.

Still, he hadn't figured out exactly what was happening or where he was—and then he heard a deep, booming laugh.

Robin watched as his son's eyes widened. He stopped dead in his tracks, a little gasp escaped him, his shoulders squaring.

"Henry," he'd whispered. "That sounds exactly the way I imagined…"

He didn't finish.

It was as if he couldn't.

"Well, who else has that kind of laugh?" Henry asked, nudging him. "Let's go look."

"But—" Roland looked at the wooden reindeer. "It can't be," he said, trying to mask his disappointment. "He'd have real reindeer."

For a moment, Robin's heart had sunk—and then Henry saved the day.

"Roland, everyone knows his reindeer are really wooden ones. They come to life and fly because of Santa's magic."

Roland looked sharply to his brother—and then back to his father and Regina.

"It's true," Regina said, her eyes wide as if she too were absolutely stunned that Santa Claus himself might've made a pit-stop at the Arendelle Sears and Roebuck—and before she could say anymore, Santa laughed again, bellowing out a cheery _Merry Christmas_ as he did.

"Do you… think he'd, um… want to, uh… can I…"

Henry giggled. "He stops at stores like this one all the time. To get kids' Christmas lists. I guess it's easier than reading all those letters." Henry shrugged and Roland offered a half nod. "I met him when I was about your age at Marshall Field's in London."

Roland only stared, wide-eyed.

"Pretty lucky that we ended up here on the same day that Santa did!"

It didn't take much coaxing for Roland to join the line of seemingly countless and equally excited children. They stood back, watching from the sidelines with their packages, as Henry got in line with him—and just before they got too far away from them, Robin pressed another two-dollar bill into Henry's hand to pay for the photograph at the end of the visit.

Roland was a ball of anxiety the whole time he and Henry were in line—and then as soon as "Santa's Helper"—a woman dressed an elf, literally with a name tag that read "Santa's Helper"—plopped him down on the old man's lap, he was talking a mile a minute as if they'd been friends for years.

Then, at the last minute, just before the photographer took the picture, Roland hopped off Santa's lap and reached for Henry, dragging him to Santa so, he too, could be a part of the photo.

When all was said and done, the photographer handed Henry a little card to fill out so that the photo could be mailed to them, then Henry paid for it and another one of "Santa's Helper's" gave them each a piece of candy. And that was all Roland talked about for the rest of the night—all through dinner and on the way home, through his bath and until he finally drifted off to sleep, Roland was enamored by the experience.

"It was nice of Henry to play along," Roland says, grinning up at Regina as he stoked the fire at the hearth. "Did you tell him to say all of that?"

"Nope. He just… made it up." She frowned. "Well, except the bit about Marshall Field's. Mal took him. They sent me the photograph with a sweet little note attached."

Robin gives her an empathetic little grin as he gets up, reaching out and stroking her cheek. He's never sure what to say instances like these, but he's found that Regina doesn't need him to say anything—all she needs is for him to be there, and to be supportive.

"Hey, we should wrap some of the gifts."

"That sounds like a job for Christmas Eve," Regina says.

"You and I will be exhausted on Christmas Eve, and the presents will all look terrible. I won't have my son thinking Santa's elves are shoddy wrappers."

"What about his stepmother?"

Robin laughs. "Is that your way of asking if we can only wrap half?"

A grin curls onto her lips. "Yes."

Robin finds the wrapping paper in the hall closest—hidden behind the vacuum cleaner that Roland would never dream of touching—and a bag of ribbons they keep on the top shelf.

"We said the candy cane stripes were from Santa, right?"

"And the snowflake paper is from us."

Robin nods and crouches down, selecting a shiny red bow from the bag. "I'm not sure how to wrap the pogo stick, so… I think I'll start with the chess set, then move onto the erector set."

Regina's brow arches. "I feel like you're assuming I am a bad gift-wrapper."

"No," he murmurs, picking up one of the sweater boxes and handing it to her. "I just think that I should get to wrap the fun gifts, and you'll wrap the boring ones." He extends the blue and white roll of paper adorned with snowflakes to her. "Since you picked them."

Her eyes narrow. "I thought we were doing half."

"Right. I'm doing half and you're doing the other half."

Regina frowns. "That isn't what I meant."

"I know."

Her eyes roll as she accepts the snowflake paper and reaches for the back to choose a bow. "I still feel like you're insinuating I'm a bad gift-wrapper."

"Well, it's not that—" A little chuckle bubbles out of him. "I'm just… _really_ good at it."

Her brow arches. "Oh really? You think so?"

"I know so."

Regina nods, her eyes narrowing. "I know you're like… Father Christmas, and all, but… my gift-wrapping skills are second to none."

"Second to mine."

"I said none."

"Oh, I know what you said, it's just… you're wrong."

Robin laughs as Regina's jaw tips up with indignation—and less than five minutes later, they've both gone to their respective corners, each with some of the candy cane wrap that's meant to be from Santa.

They both take their time—a painstaking amount of time—and when Regina turns, she's hiding the gift she wrapped, a smug smile stretched over her lips.

"On the count of three…"

_One._

_Two._

_Two and a half…_

At that Regina groans—loudly.

 _Three_.

With both packages on display, they each look over the other's handiwork. Both are lovely—tight edges and curly bows—and slowly, he watches as Regina assesses his. Unlike hers, there isn't any sign of tape—it looks as though it was simply folded, held together by magic, and his bow is far more intricate, incorporating multiple colors and strands, to create a little red and white flower with curly green ribbons beneath it, covering the top of the package.

"How—?"

"I will not share my secret," he tells her, beaming irrationally with pride.

"I _can't believe_ yours is prettier."

"Well, believe it because… well… frankly, it is." Regina's eyes roll as she looks to the gift she'd wrapped, and slowly he scooches across the carpet toward her, hooking his arm around her waist, pulling her toward him.

Still, she pouts.

Momentarily, she resists, feigning annoyance, but as his lips press to her cheek, he feels her softening. His lips trail down her jaw and neck, then back up the other side until finally, his lips meet hers.

The kiss is long and languid, and just as he's starting to lose himself in it, Regina pulls back.

"So you're really not going to tell me where you learned to make those bows?"

"Hm, I don't recall you asking," he says, his laugh a bit wry as he leans back against the side of the couch. "I only remember your disbelief that mine was prettier than yours."

"Well, I'm over that part now—"

"Are you?"

"Mm—"

"I don't think you're as over it as you think."

"What makes you say that?"

"Only that we were making out and you stopped to ask about the gift wrap."

"Well, I'm curious."

"You were thinking about gift wrap as I was kissing you?"

She frowns. "Does it matter that I was thinking about _your_ gift wrap?"

He laughs. "I'm not sure."

"Well if you tell me your secret, I'll have to thank you."

His brow arches as a little grin tugs across his lips. "Oh?" Regina offers a little peck at his lips, and he can't help but try to catch them—but Regina's too quick. So he leans back, hesitating momentarily.

But his hesitation isn't from embarrassment, but this is actually a secret of his—a detail he's used for years now to impress.

" _Ladies Home Journal_. March 1924 edition. It was an Easter Basket topper idea. I've just sort of… modified it to fit other occasions, really made it my own."

And nearly as soon as he's done a little snicker that turns into a full-fledged laugh bubbles out of her.

"Hey, this wasn't the deal," he says, feigning protest.

"I'm sorry… I am… I shouldn't laugh."

"No, you shouldn't, it's a _quality_ publication."

"I just… I should've known." Leaning in, she pecks his lips. "It's your favorite."

"It's taught me a lot of useful—"

"You don't need to defend it."

His lips part in an effort to do just that, but Regina shifts herself over him, pressing her chest to his, her tongue swiping over his bottom lip as she breathes a _thank you for sharing your secret_ before her tongue slips onto his mouth, sliding against his.

She kisses him deeply, her hands positioned on either side of his face, her fingers gently rubbing against the stubble on his cheeks.

"I love you," she hums softly as she breaks the kiss, momentarily coming up for air. "And now that I've gotten over my pride and astonishment, I love you even more because I'll never have to wrap another gift again."

This time it's his turn to laugh. "Hey now—"

"I am a lucky, lucky woman."

"Mm," he murmurs, biting down on his lip as his eyes fall to her. "That we can agree on."

She swats at him as she laughs out—and then she pulls him back to her, and this time neither of them pulls away.

* * *

Christmas week was upon them and Christmas baking had begun.

He'd been looking forward to this and weeks before had sat down and picked some of his favorite desserts. A few weeks before, he'd pulled out some of his favorite copies of _Ladies Home Journal_ —one specifically earmarked for desserts—and began planning.

And of course, Regina teased him endlessly, but the boys capitalized on the idea of "sampling" certain recipes, just to be sure, and spent hours pouring over the magazines to select recipes to try. For the last week, at least, there'd been a new recipe every night. The orange cupcakes with whipped topping were a favorite for both the boys—so naturally there were none left and a new batch would have to be made before Wednesday. The Anise sticks and Pallilos were "good but boring" so, those along with the sugar cookies they'd made and decorated the previous Saturday had mostly been given out in festive tins as presents to teachers and neighbors, to the mailman and the man at the butcher shop, and everyone and anyone in between.

The boys approved the miniature pineapple upside down cakes, too—though Roland needed to have four before giving them his stamp of approval—so, another batch of those was on the docket. Over the last several nights, they'd been sampling out miniature cream puffs—the miniature detail was what made Regina okay with the quantity of desserts the boys were eating—and while Roland liked the chocolate ones, Henry preferred the strawberry ones, so half batches of both would be made later that day.

As a wedding gift, someone had given them one of those three-tier dessert plates, and had thoughtfully chosen a pattern that was simple and plain enough to be used at any point in the year. The orange cupcakes would go on the bottom, the center plate would hold the pineapple cakes, and the top row would be divided by the puffs—strawberry on one side, chocolate on the other. Robin smiled contently at the tiered plate, imagining his desserts on them—and laughed as he thought of Regina slapping away the boys' hands as she reminded them that they'd more than had their fill, that these deserts were for their friends and family.

There were also bowls of nuts and cut up fruit, crackers and cheese, and coffee and tea for their guests to snack on as they mingled—and he smiled as he thought of the record player he'd purchased earlier that month softly playing Christmas music as they all mingled and waited for dinner and the gift-exchange.

They were having a pot-luck sort of dinner the coming Wednesday for Christmas Eve with friends and family, the following day they'd have a small family dinner with just the four of them. The menu for their family dinner was already planned—Regina would make a pork roast and a big pot of cinnamon apples, and he'd roast some potatoes and carrots.

Planning the family dinner was the easy part—knowing what to supply for the potluck was a different story. There were traditional things that everyone knew people would bring—Eugenia was making a turkey and the stuffing, John would bring pumpkin and cherry pies, and Mal, her nameless date and the rest of the Pendragons would be having half the meal catered from some ritzy five-star restaurant. Mary Margaret and David were set to make an appearance with buttered rolls and thumbprint cookies, and to his absolute delight Regina's ex would not be making an appearance.

There would be plenty of food to go around—and likely more than enough to feed them for days leftover. But of course, that wouldn't actually be the case. Everyone would go home with a plate—leftover turkey would be divided, everyone would take some sides they liked best, and the remaining desserts would be distributed among their guests.

So the dessert he was planning now would be for the family dinner, and he wanted it to be something different—something the boys hadn't sampled twenty times by now, something they didn't have often. And frankly, something that wasn't made from apples.

He'd settled on a Lady Baltimore cake. He'd made it only once before, but according to the copy of _Ladies Home Journal_ he had laid out in front of him, it was guaranteed to be a "crowd pleaser" and "something the whole family would want to enjoy again and again."

Taking a breath, he surveys the ingredients laid across the countertop—butter and a blend of flour and the other dry ingredients used in cakes, confectioners sugar, an orange, raisins and figs, some eggs, and a big bowl of chopped nuts.

Checking the recipe, he moves to the cabinet, reaching all the way to the back behind a faux shelf where he keeps the illegal substances that give food flavor. He selects the brandy and pours it into a measuring cup—and in the distance he can hear Regina coming down the stairs. He smiles as her footsteps near.

"Mm, I don't know what all of this is going to be, but I want to eat it."

"Lady Baltimore cake," he says, grinning back at her from over his shoulder.

She laughs gently as she plucks a pecan from the bowl. "Most women would feel like their territory was being invaded if their husbands spent so much time in the kitchen," she tells him as she leans against the countertop. "But I'm rather glad I don't have to spend all my time in here coming up with things to bake like Lady Baltimore cakes."

He grins as he pushes the cork back into the bottle of brandy. "Have you ever had it?"

She shakes her head. "I don't think so."

"It's perfect for this time of year."

"Growing up I always had the same things—my mother was very particular. And the, well… Leo liked what he liked and that was that."

"Not a Lady Baltimore kind of guy, then?"

She giggles. "No."

"It's not popular—"

"I've never seen it on any menu, so I'd assume that."

"But it should be."

Again, Regina giggles. "So, is this is another thing that'll be made into tiny little miniature cakes or—"

"No, all that's decided. Deciding to do half batches of the puffs solved it. My tiered plate of desserts is all set."

Her eyes roll. "That… turned into quite a heated discussion."

"Is the strawberry versus chocolate argument the first the boys have had?"

"I think so."

"Then we should feel lucky that's all they've fought over. Some kids argue just for the hell of it over any little thing."

"Well, it still gave me a headache."

"I'll give you that—it was a stupid thing to fight over, but they feel passionate about their pastries."

"Or they were going through sugar withdrawals, given how much you've been allowing them to eat."

He considers it and rolls his eyes—she's probably right, but he won't admit it and instead turns, crouches down in front of the bottom cabinet in search of the proper cake pans.

"Will you teach me?" Looking up, Robin grins, watching the way Regina looks down at him, her brown eyes wide. "Not that I'll ever need to know how to bake a Lady Baltimore cake, but—"

"No, that's why you have me."

A little laugh escapes her as he rises. "But I've been watching you these last few weeks and… well, frankly I'm impressed. As you know if I can't toss it all into one pot, I'm not likely to make it."

"We do eat a lot of stew…"

"It's winter and stews are hearty."

"I'm not complaining."

"It sounded like you were."

"Well, I wasn't."

Her lips purse and then she bursts out in a laugh. "Maybe _this_ is why they got into a petty fight over flavors."

He can't help but smile—she looks so amused. "Do you know how to zest an orange?"

Regina blinks. "Is that where you... scratch the peel or is that when you squeeze the insides out?"

His eyes narrow. "The first one, but you scratch it with a zester."

He holds up the little tool, watching as Regina's eyes shift to it. "Oh… is that what that thing is?"

Robin stifles his laugh. "Yes."

"So, you just…" Her voice trails off as she reaches for the zester. "Rub it against the orange?"

"Yes."

"Oh—"

"Let me show you."

He steps around her, wrapping his arms around her and curling his fingers around her hands, manipulating them so the zester she holds in one hand is rubbing against the rind and the other holds the little bowl in place.

"This… is not necessary," she tells him.

"I know," he admits, a little chuckle rising into his voice. "I just like holding you."

Though he can't see her, he can feel her smile as she leans back into him a bit and lets him help her zest the orange—and then they mix the dry ingredients.

"What next?"

"We let the figs and raisins soak in the brandy."

"For how long?"

"A couple of hours."

"Oh—" Regina frowns. "That's a lot of time. I was just getting into the groove of this and now we have to stop."

She pouts adorably.

"That's why I started this at eight in the morning."

"You realize that means the boys are going wake up and see all of this and—"

"I'm going to hide all of this in the cupboard," he says, motioning to the bakeware and ingredients in the cabinet, try up some eggs and sausage and some of that cinnamon bread we tried the other day—"

"The one they didn't like?"

"Didn't like it as a dessert," he corrects. "They'll eat it smothered with butter for breakfast, and it'll mask the smell of the rest of what we've got going on in here."

"Sneaky."

He beams.

"But you know, they're going to see you baking a cake."

Robin grins knowingly. "Not if they're distracted by something else."

"Something else?"

Robin trots over to the back door and opens it to reveal a can of paint, a wooden pallet, and canvas bag filled with the rest of the necessary supplies. "I'm setting them up with a little craft project."

"Oh?"

"It's for the yard."

Regina bristled. "Is it rustic?"

"That is our theme, isn't it?"

At that, she laughs, craning her neck for a look at the pallet. "That… won't be tacky?"

" _Ladies Home Journal_ never recommends anything that will be tacky."

"Ah. My apologies. I didn't mean to inadvertently insult your gospel."

Robin closes the back door and comes back to the kitchen, plucking up one of the railings from the brandy and tossing it in his mouth before he covers the bowl of dried ingredients with a piece of parchment paper.

"Wait—"

"What?"

"Christmas is in _three days._ "

"Yes," he murmurs, his eyes narrowing as he looks to her—they've had a countdown going for weeks. "It is."

"Then why are you making the cake now?"

"It's a sample one."

"A sample? But you said no more miniatures, so—"

"I thought you and I could have it tonight. A nightcap with coffee after the boys go to bed. We can test it out, make sure the recipe is right."

Her brow cocks. "Are you saying _Ladies Home Journal_ might not be completely accurate?"

Robin shakes his head. "Oh, no. You see the editors of _Ladies Home Journal_ are flawless in their recommendations, but this recipe was a reader submission. I've made it before, but I don't quite remember the outcome." He offers a sheepish grin. "I also vaguely remember John and I polishing off the brandy we used in the recipe before eating the cake."

"So, the cake was just for the two of you?"

Robin nods, offering a sheepish grin. "We like having fancy desserts when we're drunk." Regina doesn't even try to stop herself from laughing, as he reaches out and hooks his arm around her waist and pulls her close, feeling her laugh rumbling through her. "We should try it some time."

"Are you suggesting we have something other than coffee with our cake tonight?"

"Perhaps, or we could have coffee of the Irish variety."

"Ah, now there's an idea."

He nods and tugs her a little closer, smiling as her arms loop up around him, clasping at the back of his neck. "You know, I have another idea…"

"Do you?"

"Well, we have two hours before we can continue on with the cake, and the boys are still—"

He doesn't get to finish the sentence because before he does, he hears the boys' bedroom door open and no sooner than he sighs with disappointment, they're clattering down the stairs.

Regina laughs, leaning up onto the tip of her toes to press a quick kiss to his lips. "Mm, maybe save that other idea for later, too?"

"Oh, absolutely," he says, chuckling wryly as he lets her go—and no sooner than a respectable distance is between them, the boys are in the kitchen asking for breakfast.

* * *

It snows that Christmas Eve.

For a few hours in the middle of the day, they'd debated about calling the whole thing off—the snow was too heavy, the roads too icy. But before they could make a decision, John was trudging up the driveway with pies balanced on his hands and Tink hopping along beside him, trying to stay in his tracks.

For a while, it's just the four of them—plus the boys who are busy outside romping around in the snow—and for awhile, it's awkward. They knew it would be—Tink was once Regina's maid, after all—but they're all able to make small talk and before they ran out of pleasantries and observations about the weather, Marco and Eugenia were knocking at the door. And of course, it was impossible to be awkward in their presence.

Regina helped Eugenia to get the turkey in the oven, and Marco handed out little flasks of whiskey that he'd brought for everyone, and when he reached Robin and pressed his flask into his hand, he clapped him on the back and told him he'd really out done himself on the Christmas decorations on the house. Robin beamed as Marco passed him, onto the next person, and Regina sank down beside him, resting her hand on her shoulder and smiling just as proudly as Marco launched into an animated story about their trek down from Canada.

By the time he was done the Pendragons were arriving. Arthur and Guinevere's kids joined Henry and Roland in the yard, and in what seemed like mere minutes, a snow fort was built and they were all launching snowballs at one another—one pair behind the fort and the other behind a large tree. Mal and a pretty brunette arrived next and to everyone's surprise, her date was pleasant and personable and gave Tink a companion for the evening. Mary Margaret and David were the last of the guests to arrive, and as they watched them navigate their way up the snowy path that led to the house, Regina reminded Mal for the umpteenth time that she needed to be civil—a detail Mal scoffed at, likely for the umpteenth time. Nonetheless, Mal was warm and inviting—and Mary Margaret's presence earned a big smile from Henry which set everyone at ease about the whole situation.

Dinner went on without a hitch, and everyone complimented the array of little dessert snacks Regina had arranged—and he let them, enjoying the way she got flustered at the misguided praises and teasing that her baking skills were second to none. And, of course, in turn, she gave credit where credit was truly due, explaining that she wouldn't have been able to create anything without the guidance of _Ladies Home Journal_. Only John picked up on the joke.

The gift exchange was done after dinner, and as everyone is getting settled in the family room, Robin puts on a record, smiling as he admires the brand new record player. He'd been grateful to have drawn John's name from the hat when they'd planned all of this out, giving him a new Swiss Army Knife to replace the rusted one he always carried around with him, and Regina had been tight-lipped about who she'd selected. He'd assumed that it was him—why else would she be so coy?—but as it turned out, she had Tink who all but melted when she opened up the bracelet Regina gifted her.

" _Oh… my god_ ," she'd said, her jaw dropping as the paper fell from her lap. "It's gorgeous."

"I had one like it and you always admired it."

Tink looked up. "But the blue stones suit you more than the red ones that were set into mine."

Robin's brow arched—he wondered if it was the same bracelet with new stones, but he didn't think to ask, and Tink certainly didn't seem to care. She could hardly take her eyes off of it which thrilled Regina more than she would ever actually admit.

Mal had drawn Mary Margaret and given her a gift certificate to a nice restaurant—a thoughtless gift that Mary Margaret thought was the grandest gesture she could've received, and Marco had drawn Henry's name, gifting him the newest Agatha Christie mystery which Henry wasted no time in beginning… much to Roland's chagrin.

Roland had drawn Eugenia's name and proudly gave her the beaded necklace he'd spent hours making—and Eugenia acted like it was the finest piece of jewelry she'd ever gotten.

David had drawn his name and gave him the sensible—albeit unnecessary—gift of a leather keychain embroidered with his initials that could be clipped to his belt loop, and Henry gave Mal a framed picture of the two of them from when he lived with her in London—a gift that made her teary.

All in all, it went better than expected. There were a few awkward moments here and there, but for the most part, their first attempt at hosting a holiday with both of their families went off without a hitch. By nine o'clock, everyone was on their way out the door, packages of leftovers in hand, and by a quarter after nine, the boys were passed out in their beds. He wasn't even sure they'd brushed their teeth…

Now, exhausted, he crouches in front of the fire, poking at the log he'd just tossed in, trying to get the flame to envelop it. The fire and the amber-glow of the lights on the trees make the room look warmer than it is. It's well past eleven and he knows they too should head to bed, but the urge to enjoy the quiet for just a little while is too strong.

"I didn't know talking could make a person so tired," Regina says, yawning as she joins him. "And we still have to drag out all the presents."

"At least they're wrapped."

"And wrapped so beautifully," she adds, a hint of jeer in her voice. "I won't ever admit that I actually said this, but you were right—wrapping them all ahead of time was a good idea."

He grins as he stares into the fire. "I _live_ for the moments you'll deny."

Regina laughs. "Come here. I made you something."

He turns as she extends a mug to him—steam wafting up, a hint of chocolate in the air. Despite her tired eyes, it appears Regina had the same thought as he did. "Hot cocoa," he grins, accepting the cup. "Festive."

"Even more so considering that I spiked it."

"Genius."

"Come sit with me."

He nods, all too happy to oblige. He settles on the couch with her, putting his feet in her lap at the same moment she stretches out her feet and drops them down in his, and they both laugh.

"I think the boys are going to go nuts over that dartboard," she says. "Of all the gifts, I think that's going to be _the_ one this year."

"Not those adorable, matching sweater vests you picked up for them?"

Regina glares. "First of all, those are wool and warm. They'll like them when they're freezing at school, and—"

"Well, if that's the motivation then why not go for the whole sweater."

Her eyes narrow and he resists the urge to laugh. "Roland complains that he can't write when his arms feel bulky."

"He does?"

"Constantly."

"Not to me."

"No, to his teachers. They called. He actually gave that excuse to his teacher—he couldn't do a writing assignment because moving his arms in a bulky sweater like the one he was wearing was just too difficult, it was painful even."

"Oh—" Robin sighs, his eyes momentarily pressing closed. "I… don't even know what to say to that. He's lucky he's so damn cute."

"You should've heard me trying to respond to that."

"I'm sure you were more eloquent than I would've been."

At that, she laughs a bit, but doesn't say any more about it. "Besides, they're fashionable for boys nowadays."

"Are they?"

"They are."

" _Fashionable_ sounds like it's a bit too strong of a word."

"Well, everyone is wearing them. Haven't you noticed what all the kids are wearing when they come out of school?"

Robin blinks. "No."

"Well, I do."

"But just because everyone is wearing it doesn't mean it's fashionable."

Regina sighs and rolls her eyes. "We should change the subject."

Robin's shoulders straighten and she smiles over the edge of his mug of cocoa. "But back to the original point, I agree—the dartboard is going to be a hit for both of them."

"I can't wait to see their faces—"

"I know." He laughs softly to himself, imagining it. "What time do you think they'll be up tomorrow morning?"

"Well, if Henry had it his way, he'd sleep til noon, but given he's a light sleeper and therefore at Roland's mercy, and Roland will be up before the sun."

Robin sighs. "True."

For a few minutes, a comfortable silence settles between them—and he can feel himself starting to drift. Drawing in a breath, he opens his eyes and lifts his cocoa, taking a long sip before his eyes focus on Regina, sitting across from him nursing her mug and smiling groggily.

"It's snowing again," she tells him.

He looks back, over his shoulder—it is. The snow is coming down in large flakes, coating the yard once more. The turned up, stomped down snow from earlier has a fresh layer overtop, and it piques and dips like the little shimmery mountains and valleys. It's perfect.

"What if we just stayed here… forever," Regina muses.

"Forever is a long time."

"Okay, what if we just stayed here for the night?"

He grins as she takes the final sip of her cocoa, her grip on the mug loosening as she rests it against herself. "That sounds more reasonable."

"Because in… what… six or seven hours the boys will be up and tearing into their presents, and we'll just end up right back here."

"Seven seems too generous."

"Six, then?"

"Possibly only five," he says, sighing as he reaches for the afghan that's draped over the back of the couch to cover them up. "We can tell Roland we waited up for Santa."

"Interesting… and what will we tell him when he asks a million questions about that?"

"That we missed it. You and I fell asleep and we're such hard sleepers we missed the whole thing."

"He'll be disappointed."

"Until he notices the presents under the tree and that stocking full of goodies over the mantle."

Regina smiles, her gaze shifting past him to the stockings above the fire—and almost instinctively he follows her gaze, smiling wistfully as he remembers the afternoon they all sat down together and decorated the stockings.

What a perfect day that had been…

By the time he looks back, Regina is asleep across from him. Her head is resting on her shoulder and at some point she placed her mug on the floor beside the couch. He smiles gently as he watches her sleep, and as he finishes his cocoa he finds himself lost in thoughts—wondering how it is that he ended up with such a perfect life.

Robin sets down his mug and snuggles into the blanket, closing his eyes as a slight chill sweeps through the room.

* * *

Robin can hear the low crackling of the fire, and there's that distinct winter-morning chill in the air—and for a moment, he doesn't want to open his eyes. So, he lingers there for a while—laying in bed and thinking of her beside him, her feet still in his lap, the soft and low sound of her snore sweeping around him.

But it gets fainter and fainter—everything does.

And as it fades an ache settles in his chest as reality sets in.

It's Christmas morning—and it's time to get up.

Roland is asleep in his twin bed on the other side of the room, his hand tucked under his cheek, a mop of curls hiding his face. Robin smiles as he watches him—he has at least an hour before he wakes—an hour before the sheer pandemonium of Christmas morning really begins.

"Yer gettin' better the floofy thing," John calls out from the kitchen, waving his hand at the tree as he bites into a jelly donut. "Want coffee?"

"Uh… what?"

Robin blinks a few times. He feels like he has a hangover despite the fact that he didn't have any alcohol the night before.

"Coffee," John says, swallowing the mouthful of donut, his brow arching. "I made a big pot. I figured we'd need it today, and… it looks like I was right."

"Oh. Yeah, sure."

John grins and momentarily disappears into the kitchen as Robin flops back onto the couch, looking around the apartment as if it's a foreign space—as if it isn't the same apartment he and John have shared since Marian died all those years before.

"Brought you a donut, too," John says as he drops down into an armchair and slides a plate across the table. "There's a little bakery by Tink's new apartment. I stopped on the way home." He pauses momentarily to lick some confectioner's sugar from his thumb. "They're pretty good."

"Oh. Thanks."

He feels John's gaze as he reaches for the cup of coffee. "You… look like you've seen a ghost or something."

Robin takes a long sip of the coffee. "No, no… it's just…" He sighs and sets it down, reaching for the donut. "I just had this dream and—"

"What? Like a nightmare?"

"No—"

"I had this dream once that this girl I had a thing with turned into a wolf and was chasing me." John shudders. "I woke up just before she ripped my ass off."

Robin's eyes roll and he can't help but groan. "It, uh… it wasn't that kind of dream."

"Oh…"

Robin sniffs the donut. "What's in this?"

"Fig."

Robin swallows, his chest tightening at the false memory of making Lady Baltimore cake with Regina in their imaginary kitchen, his arms around her as they mixed the figs, raisins, and nuts with their fingers. "Oh."

"I thought you liked—"

"I do," Robin cuts in. "Thanks."

John's eyes narrow. He looks uncomfortable. "So, um… this dream…" Robin looks up, his brow cocking and despite the sadness he feels, a chuckle rumbles out of him as John shifts uncomfortably. "Is it…. do you want…?"

"Are you asking if I want to talk about it?"

John blinks, almost wincing. "Sure."

There's a part of him that does want to talk about it, a part of him that wants to relive every detail so that he can ensure that he remembers them—but there's another part of him, a bigger part, that wants to hold it all in, a part of him that wants the cozy little dream world he imagines to be untainted by reality.

Robin draws in a breath as he sets down the donut and reaches for his coffee, taking a quick sip before setting it down and leaning forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looks pointedly to John. "I just… was dreaming about the life I might've had if Regina hadn't gone to England last year."

"You mean if you hadn't given her the chance to leave."

"Same thing."

"No—"

Robin sighs, frustrated.

"It's no secret you miss her, and it's not surprising that on today of all days you'd really miss her."

Robin nods—a year ago today he woke up in Regina's bed with her lying beside him. He remembers every detail of that morning, including the agony he felt about leaving without a proper goodbye. Of course, it'd been the best thing to do for her and he knew that their life together could never have been what it was in his dream—but still, he missed her and wished things could be different.

"Give her a call."

"It's Christmas."

"And?"

Robin laughs gently and shakes his head. "The Post Office is closed and—"

"Then call tomorrow."

He nods—he knows he won't call. He won't encroach on her time with Henry. "Maybe I will."

John sighs and shakes his head, then leans forward and pushes the donut toward him. "Eat this before Roland does. He's already going to be bouncing off the walls, he doesn't need the extra sugar." John grins and stands, downing what's left in his coffee cup. "Unless you don't want it…"

Robin sighs and lifts the plate, offering John the donut and rolling his eyes when he takes it, biting into it and sighing with contentment.

"I'm gonna get more coffee."

Robin nods and leans back, enjoying the momentary solace. He looks to the tree and just past it, he watches tiny snowflakes falling and collecting on the windowsill. He watches until he feels himself getting groggy, his eyelids getting heavy—and as he drifts back toward sleep, he feels Regina sink down beside him, cuddling into his side.

If only, he thinks.


End file.
